Sheets
by oh-you-pretty-things
Summary: DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOLIERS. PostDH.  Reflections of sunlight in the mirror one quiet morning lead to personal reflections of the soul.  HPGW.  Fluff.  Oneshot.


DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter, and all characters associated with the books belong to JK Rowling, with the rights going to: Scholastic in the US, Bloomsbury in the UK and Raincoast Publishing in Canada. I do not own any of the characters or any locations, phrasing or words that are directly associated with the Harry Potter books.

AN: So, here is some ridiculous fluff because I fell asleep in the sunlight and it seemed very poetic. SO, anyway, I felt that I should write a tiny piece of fluffy Harry/Ginny love. Aww. Thanks unacymbal, for reading it and not puking. ;)

Sunlight reflected against the mirror sending circles of light dancing across an upturned palm. Fingers curled lazily into the palm as it lay against a crisp, white pillow case. The hand, pale and perfect, was all that he could see through the chaos created by piles of haphazard sheets and pillows. Allowing his eyes to skim down the shapeless mass of bedding he caught sight of a bare, slender ankle peeking out, toes wiggling absently. There was a peace about the two appendages in his line of view, a sort of warm comfort of knowing that she was there.

Slowly, carefully, he shifted just a bit in an attempt to further his view without disrupting the peace of the early morning. The tiniest touch of pressure on the pillow sent a cascade of red, silken hair spilling over the edge, brushing his cheek – still, she slept. He could see her face now, pale even against the bright white of the room, illuminated by wild, tangled red hair splayed out in all directions. Her eyes were closed, covered by delicate eyelids, framed with dark red lashes in dramatic contrast to her fair skin. He knew that beneath this seemingly angelic picture, there were a pair of blazing, bright brown eyes that always seemed to see right through him. Always had, always will.

The corners of her lips were turned up ever so slightly, as though she knew a secret that amused her to no end. She probably did. Her collar bone was the last visible thing before her body was engulfed by the folds of the crumpled sheets. There was something poetic about that particular line of her body, something just so _right_. Maybe it was because it was so often lost beneath Quidditch robes, maybe because he was one of the few people permitted to see it – maybe, really, the only person.

Ginny. Ginevra Potter. His wife. Forever and ever. Until death do them part. Harry smiled for the concept of death, which had haunted him mercilessly from the age of eleven until the age of seventeen, seemed so very distant at this point in time. Had his past actually been so dark? His smile deepened at the irony of the fact that his childhood, which had been as dark as Instant Peruvian Darkness Powder, had made way for a future so bright that it was as blinding as the sunbeams reflecting off the mirror. There was a series of thumps in the hallway, a couple of stifled giggles and the sound of three pairs of feet stomping down the stairs. Harry closed his green eyes, still smiling.

When he opened them, he laid them to rest on Ginny's face. One bright eye was fixed on his face and she groaned, burying her face into the pillow.

"Kids are up," she mumbled sleepily, her voice muffled into the pillow.

"Mhmm," Harry replied non-commitally, still watching the back of her buried head.

She rolled over to face him, her expression betraying how much she really wanted to pull the pillows back over her head. "Maybe we should get up?"

Harry shook his head, smiling. Ginny smiled tentatively. "No?"

"No."

"But…"

"James is old enough."

"Yes, but whether he is _inclined_ to…"

Harry held his fingers to her lips, silencing her logical statement. "They'll be fine for a few more minutes."

"Just a few more minutes?" she asked contentedly, a little smile playing on her lips again causing Harry to think of a secret that no one else knew.

"Just a few."

"Okay," she replied softly, pushing away the pillows between them and snuggling into his chest.

As his wife drew lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips, Harry decided that once in a while inaction was certainly preferable. Dumbledore had been right all along: there is no magic stronger than love.


End file.
